I have many stories from last weekend, as any weekend that includes one bachelorette fiesta, one six flags deathmatch, one post-coaster boozefest, and one fantabulous wedding shower might. But here – HERE – is *the* fucking story.

I saw the face of God.

No joke, people, I went toe to toe with my own mortality, and I totally kicked mortality’s ASS.

At Six Flags, on Saturday, Meg, Sabrina and I were buckled into harness-laced bodybags, winched together, hoisted 128 feet in the air, and then dropped back to earth. You kind of realize something when you’re hurtling towards the ground in free fall, and you kind of realize something else when you swing back upwards, so high you can see for miles. For me, that realization was that I’m pretty much the ballsiest chick ever, because *I* was the one who pulled the ripcord.

I’m having trouble finding a good picture, because even Six Flags doesn’t seem to want to admit that they have something so insanely awesome and terrifying, but if you google “skycoaster” you’ll see what I’m talking about. Everyone should do it. It’s the best $25 I’ve ever spent.